


A Muted Scream Becomes A Song

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mpreg, Nephilim, Not Canon Compliant, One of them is lying to the other ones, Sexual Content, must be tuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: “Dean. Sam. Listen to me. Bringing it here will put all three of us in peril as well, and not only from Heaven’s soldiers. The level of uncontrollable power in a Nephilim is absurd and beyond description.”“We’re not leaving a baby to die somewhere, Cas,” Dean snaps.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 120





	A Muted Scream Becomes A Song

**Author's Note:**

> This fic doesn't really fit... _anywhere_ in the timeline of the show. I'd say I'm sorry for that, but it'd be a lie. Also Gabriel was not supposed to appear. He snuck his way in by accident.

“Dean.”

“Ughn…”

“ _Dean._ ”

“Yeah…”

Castiel can only shout without words, overwhelmed now and unable to voice the warning. For a brief moment he almost detects some unpleasant sensation - what humans may refer to as “bad vibes” - but it’s drowned out as he orgasms. His fingers clench in the sheet and he pulls Dean right after him, leaving the both of them in a gasping and trembling pile on the mattress. He experiences an odd sense of foreboding about something but instantly forgets when Dean sucks a kiss against the back of his neck.

“Mornin’ sunshine.” Castiel can hear his huge smile.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Dammit, Cas, we talked about this.” Dean’s forehead gently drops against the space between his shoulder blades. “Hello is when you walk into a room. Good morning is when you wake up in the same bed and then your boyfriend fucks you through the mattress.”

“Yes, I understand. I’ll remember for next time.”

“Okay good,” he chuckles, kissing the back of Castiel’s neck again.

Dean removes himself from the bed and returns with a washcloth, promptly attending to the mess. Castiel lies still and allows this, and once it’s finished they both dress. Sam is already in the kitchen when they arrive.

“Could you two be _any more loud?_ ” he complains.

“Can sure as hell try,” Dean snarks.

“Hey Cas, can you withhold sex from my brother until he stops being such a sarcastic bitch?”

“I don’t believe that would help anything,” Castiel says honestly. “And I see no need to smother aspects of his personality, even when he’s being, as you put it, a sarcastic bitch.”

“I love how you defend my honor,” Dean snickers as he rummages the fridge, presumably for bacon.

Castiel sits and accepts a mug of coffee, largely out of solidarity and not because it makes any genuine difference to him. He frowns to himself but doesn’t outwardly voice his disapproval when he watches Dean opening a beer while digging up the correct size of frying pan. Sam, apparently, has no such issue.

“Dean, c’mon, man. It’s not even seven AM.”

“And?” Dean snorts.

“Uh. Nothing’s even really wrong right now, why are you drinking?”

“’Cause I can.”

“You got a problem, man.”

“Yeah, prob’ly,” Dean shrugs, seemingly unbothered.

“Does this fall under the umbrella of alcohol addiction?” Castiel asks, addressing Sam.

“Uh. Yeah. Little bit.”

Dean isn’t facing either of them, but Castiel has no doubt he’s rolling his eyes. “Yup. Well. Life’s a bitch and then you die, might as well smooth the ride a little, right?”

Despite his cynicism, Dean seems to be in an excellent mood while preparing his monstrous pile of bacon. Castiel wonders what Dean would say if he became aware that every night while he sleeps his arteries receive preventative maintenance with the help of angel grace.

The reasonable calm of the morning is broken for Castiel when Angel Radio suddenly goes berserk. A rash of voices communicating, some frantic, others disgusted. Given that he’s not on the best terms with Heaven, Castiel wishes that he was no longer forced to tune in to these messages despite the warning they often provide. In this case, however, the news is profoundly disturbing.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“A Nephilim has recently been conceived. We’ll need to be alert.”

“A what now?”

“A Nephilim. Half human and half angel, they’re a rare phenomenon thankfully but they’re certainly something you could call ‘bad news.’ They present an unchecked level of raw power.”

“So what’s the protocol for that?” Sam asks.

“The child and its parents are killed,” Castiel informs him flatly. “It’s necessary to prevent an extreme level of danger to a large number of people.”

“Man, every time I think I can’t hate your feathered buddies any more than I already do, they fuckin’ find a way,” Dean grunts, wearing an expression of distaste. “They really just go around murdering babies?”

“On occasion. As I said, this phenomenon is… unusual. You have to understand, Nephilim are incredibly dangerous and often uncontrollable.”

“That ain’t an excuse, Cas! You can’t just go around killing innocent people like that!”

“Dean’s right,” Sam interjects. “Are there um. Signs to look for, maybe? Anything to indicate where it’ll be born? Maybe we can find them and protect them.”

“Sam-”

“Cas, nobody’s born bad. Well, maybe Crowley was. But most people aren’t. And if anybody’s equipped to handle something like this it’s us. We’ll go find these people, and when the Nephilim’s born help them teach it to control it’s powers.”

“Sounds a hell of a lot better to me,” Dean nods.

“You two have no idea what it’s capable of,” Castiel argues.

“Doesn’t mean it has to die. C’mon, Cas.”

“Dean. Sam. Listen to me. Bringing it here will put all three of us in peril as well, and not only from Heaven’s soldiers. The level of uncontrollable power in a Nephilim is absurd and beyond description.”

“We’re not leaving a baby to die somewhere, Cas,” Dean snaps.

Dean’s mind is made up. Castiel understands that the brothers are now dead set on this ridiculous task and they’ll be undertaking the case with or without his help. Dean stares at him in silence and he frowns back for a long moment until Sam interrupts their silent argument.

“Guys, c’mon. Cas, help us out here, how do we know what to look for?”

“It depends,” he admits after a moment. “Nephilim reach full term in five months instead of nine. If it’s a human giving birth, you can reasonably expect the typical symptoms and problems. However, there will be additional strange occurrences in the surrounding area, particularly while the birth is taking place. This is the most common way that it happens. If the angel is carrying the Nephilim, there will be no visible changes. In rare cases the angel may have infrequent symptoms that mimic minor human pathogens. The gestational period is the same. When an angel gives birth, it’s essentially guaranteed for them to temporarily slip into the veil. Details beyond that are… vague about how the process occurs after that.”

“So how do we find them?”

“With difficulty. In a human it appears to be a normal pregnancy aside from the shortened duration, up until the point that labor begins. In an angel it’s much harder. Most Nephilim aren’t found until after the birth.”

“Well that’s perfect, the bunker’s warded, we can bring them here and nobody will find them,” Sam exclaims.

“Sammy, do we really want some chick tryna give birth here in this place? There’s no doctors or medical shit, it’s just us three and none of us would know what we’re dealing with.”

“Regardless of medical assistance, there’s an extremely high death rate for the person who gives birth. It’s likely we would be disposing of a body.”

“How likely, Cas?”

“Around fifty to sixty percent. Which means removing a corpse, handling a newborn, and attempting to help the bereaved second parent cope with the loss.”

“Yeah but that still sounds easier than abducting a baby from a hospital,” Dean shrugs.

Castiel resigns himself to the fact that this is inevitable. It doesn’t mean he needs to be happy about it.

* * *

“Dammit, there ain’t anything in here about Nephilims,” Dean grumbles, slowly thumbing through a copy of the Bible.

“Well, the versions available for humanity’s consumption have been redacted and edited many times. The original stories have been so watered down and distorted that over sixty five percent of what’s printed in those may be safely ignored,” Castiel informs him.

“Hm. No shit.” Dean flips it shut and tosses it aside. “Cas, how many weeks has it been since you heard the thing on Angel Radio?”

“Six and two days.”

“Great. So we got… three and a half months to figure this out,” Dean mumbles, counting on his fingers for a second. “Okay. That’s not great, since the info about these things is so spotty.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I told you everything I know.”

“Yeah, it’s not your fault babe.” Dean lands a palm on his shoulder and briefly kisses his cheek. “I’m getting a snack, we can hit the books again in a few minutes. God, where’s Sammy when you need him?”

“Out buying groceries.”

“Right.”

Dean disappears into the kitchen, likely to have three beers with his snack. Castiel sighs quietly through his nose and rubs his temples - he’s had a headache all morning, a word he never thought to apply until describing the problem to Dean over breakfast. His boyfriend had informed him that yes, he has a headache. It’s unusual and incredibly unpleasant despite being very far from the worst pain he’s experienced in his long life. Sam had suggested an entire bottle of extra-strength Tylenol to cure him, but Castiel had felt inexplicably hesitant to accept that solution. Which leaves him standing in the library rubbing his face.

Attempting to distract himself, Castiel retrieves the Bible from where Dean set it down in order to see which version it is. Almost instantly, the book begins to burn his fingers and he drops it in alarm. The skin damage heals like always but it’s extremely concerning. Castiel wonders frantically what he’s done to deserve such an ill omen; he’s not on the best terms with Heaven right now (and really hasn’t been on good terms with them since practically the moment he met Dean Winchester), but as far as he’s aware he hasn’t done anything recently to “piss them off.”

Castiel abruptly assembles the facts in his mind and subsequently begins to panic. The messages on Angel Radio had appeared mere minutes after he’d had sex with Dean that morning. He has a headache, when normally angels don’t experience that type of minor grievance. A Bible has burned him. He’s frightened of ingesting poisonous substances.

He is carrying a Nephilim.

And Dean is obviously the other parent, completely unaware. Castiel has no choice but to keep him in the dark because if he does find out, and then less friendly angels discover that he knows, they won’t hesitate to murder him. So Castiel will say nothing. He has three and a half months to concoct a nice convincing lie, as well as devise some way to ensure that he’ll actually survive what’s coming. The details around angels giving birth to Nephilim are frustratingly absent, so he has no blueprints to work from. Most of the available data pertains to humans.

“Cas, you okay?”

He spins around too quickly and worsens his headache by accident when he hears Dean’s voice.

“Yes, should I not be?”

“You look kinda pale.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Castiel refuses to allow his terror to show on his face. “I thought you were getting a snack.”

“Nothin’ in the fridge, and the cupboards are all that healthy shit Sammy eats.”

They begin rummaging the next section of shelves. Castiel works to reign in his emotions, knowing that Dean can read him very well. The circumstances torment him, however. He’s aware that for humans, bearing children is typically a joyous and fulfilling experience. It pains him to realize that this will at least partially be stolen from them, by virtue of the fact that he isn’t human. Assuming Castiel survives, which is far from a guarantee, Dean won’t be aware of either of their roles in the Nephilim’s existence.

“Cas, you awake over there?”

“Oh. Yes, I don’t sleep.”

“Why are you zoning out so bad?”

“Headache.” It isn’t a complete lie, the headache _is_ distracting. “Dean, in all honesty, I don’t believe we’ll find anything in these books. We’ll have to wait until it’s closer to the birth and look for signs then.”

Dean’s posture slumps minutely. “This sucks, Cas.”

“Can I ask how you’re planning to convince the expecting parents to come to the bunker? Humans tend to prefer the luxury of medical facilities for these things.”

“Worst comes to worst, we’ll do it at gunpoint.” Castiel glares at him. “Oh c’mon, Cas! I was kidding! You gotta learn to take a joke one’a these days, babe.”

“Forgive me for not seeing the humor in this situation.”

“Christ. Okay, Cas, lighten up, alright? You got no reason to be so damn grumpy, things are going… pretty much okay for us right now. Nothing’s tried to kill us all week.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. My head hurts.”

His boyfriend’s expression graduates to _worried._ “Maybe you should lay down or something, you look _really_ pale.”

“…alright.”

Dean leads him to their bedroom and dims the lights by a considerable margin, then gently coaxes him to lie back on the bed before removing his shoes, belt and necktie. The lower light does seem to help.

“How’d you get a headache, Cas?” Dean asks, crawling up beside him and cuddling him from the side.

“I’m not sure.” The lie tastes sour on his tongue but he forces it out nonetheless. “I don’t believe the ‘how’ is necessarily important anyway.”

Dean strokes his hair and thankfully doesn’t ask any more questions.

* * *

“Whatcha got, Sam?” Dean asks, dropping into the chair opposite his brother.

“More electrical storms. These ones are in the next town over from us,” Sam mumbles, eyes intent on the screen of his laptop. Without looking up: “Cas, how much longer do we have now?”

“Not long,” Castiel says, refusing to give away how discomforted he is. “Less than two weeks if I remember correctly.”

“We gotta find them first,” Dean insists, shaking his head. “Tryna steal a baby from a hospital is one of the shittiest things we could do, especially if this poor bastard is mourning his wife and stuff. Gotta find them first and bring ’em here.”

“Dean, how are we gonna convince them to come?” Sam finally raises his eyes again. “You know how that usually goes down for us. ‘Hi, we’re Sam and Dean Winchester, we’re kidnapping you to keep you safe from angels who want to murder you and your unborn kid.’ They’ll put up a fight and refuse to come with us, and maybe wave a home defense shotgun at us while they’re at it. And that’s only if we can even find them and try to warn them ahead of time in the first place, which is looking more and more unlikely. Time’s running out for that. We’ll probably have to steal the baby from the hospital and immediately kidnap the husband.”

“The other parent may survive,” Castiel points out. “It’s not impossible.” He wants to survive. And he’s also very glad his boyfriend won’t be forced to resort to infant theft.

“This is so damn complicated,” Dean complains. “Why do those bird-winged dicks hafta try and kill newborns in the first place?”

“Nephilim have destroyed worlds, Dean.”

“So? Not all of them can be bad.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “No, not _all_ of them. But enough have caused rampant destruction that this policy was deemed necessary.”

“It’s gonna be fine, Cas,” Sam interrupts, raising one hand slightly away from the table.

“Quick question, babe.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“So we’ve established that omens and signs and generally weird shit cropping up means the kid’s gonna be born soon.”

“Yes.”

Dean peers at him uncertainly. “Is one’a those signs maybe angels getting sick?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your skin looks like it went in the wash with bleach.”

“Oh.” Castiel still holds back his malaise with great effort and dredges up another in a long series of lies to his boyfriend. “Yes, I suppose it’s possible. I’m not doing well this morning.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel says… or rather, attempts to say. He’s not able to complete the sentence before he’s vomiting all over the table and then collapsing out of his chair.

“Cas!” Dean yelps, bolting over and gathering him up from the floor. “Cas. Okay. How ’bout you lay down, okay?”

“Dean…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

Dean picks him up with only a quiet grunt of effort and begins carrying him out of the kitchen. Castiel remains rigid enough to make the process easier for his boyfriend, but otherwise feels as though his strength has been completely sapped. He hopes Dean doesn’t ask more questions… he doesn’t have the will to lie any further.

Dean settles him on the bed, undresses him, struggles him into sweatpants and a flannel.

“Okay. I know you don’t usually drink or eat, but I’m gonna get you some water to take sips of, okay?” Dean sits him partially upright on a mound of pillows and pulls the blankets nearly up to his chest. “You’re gonna be fine, Cas.”

“Alright,” he agrees, whispering. Illness comes so unnaturally to him and it’s not worth the effort to argue, or to tell his boyfriend the truth.

Dean leaves briefly and returns with a glass of water. “Don’t drink the whole thing at once, just - small sips every couple minutes. I’m gonna go clean up the kitchen.”

Castiel nods and sinks deeply into the pillows and bedding, not bothering with the water. From what little information there is to be had on the subject, he’s gathered that if he’s sick now it’ll very likely continue. He’s not sure how much time passes, it seems to drift away from him like a water current in the manner that indicates he’s in a state that’s the closest to true sleep an angel can come. When he returns to full consciousness it’s because Sam is softly knocking on the open door.

“Cas, you awake?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, um.” Sam steps into the room and awkwardly fidgets. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks now, and. I uh. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but.” A deep breath. Sam watches the floor. “Cas. Are you…? I mean. You’re not… right?”

“Don’t tell Dean,” he begs, his voice croaking treacherously. “Sam, please don’t tell Dean. They’ll kill him.”

“Cas, why didn’t you say something? We can help-”

“You can’t,” he insists. “There’s no ‘helping,’ I promise you. I’ll be pulled into the veil. It’s impossible to know how events will proceed after that, but ultimately an infant will appear in the realm of the material world. I… may or may not return as well.”

Sam radiates sadness and distress. “This could kill you and you won’t even tell Dean.”

“They’ll execute him. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

“But you… you’ve been _lying_ for _months._ And how the hell were you gonna explain this?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it matters. There’s an incredibly high mortality rate.”

“At least say you feel fucking guilty!”

“I do,” Castiel nods. “I’m guilty and extremely ashamed of myself. Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Presuming I don’t come back, it should be alright to tell them the truth once the child is grown enough to protect them both from Heaven’s wrath.”

“You want me to keep a secret for eighteen years?”

“Fifteen, approximately.”

“Oh. Great. That’s so much better, Cas.”

“Sam, in the absence of being able to explain myself to Dean, I should make this confession to you so that you can pass it on.”

Sam sighs and at last pulls over a chair to sit, folding his hands together between his knees. “Okay. Sure. Hit me.”

“I understand that it’s considerably different for humans. There’s no threat of divine wrath involved with child-rearing in the vast majority of cases. I regret that it can’t be this way between Dean and I, and I also find the distinct possibility of my absence from our child’s life profoundly distressing.”

“Sounds about right,” Sam whispers. “Cas… I get why you don’t wanna tell Dean. Really, as awful as this all is, I get that. And probably in your shoes I’d do the same thing. But um. I wish you would’a told me at least and not let me figure it out on my own.”

“In hindsight, yes. That would’ve been a much better choice.”

“You really just let yourself suffer through this alone until now, that seems really unfair.”

“Well, to quote my wise and well-spoken boyfriend, life’s a bitch and then you die.”

Sam chuckles. “Dammit, don’t make me laugh. This isn’t funny…”

“I know. It isn’t.”

“It just feels like… he should get to know. Dean really loves you, Cas, and if you _die_ having this kid-”

“I know,” Castiel says again. “It shouldn’t have to be this way.” He swallows. “But it is.”

* * *

It begins as an intense pain, surrounding his heart. Castiel struggles to breathe evenly and quietly, not wanting to wake Dean beside him. It takes immense effort to get out of bed without disturbing the mattress. It’s fortunate that his wings are essentially immaterial and can’t impact the environment around him, because they’re flexing and spasming uncontrollably behind him.

Castiel leaves, closing the door behind him, and once he’s a sufficient distance from their room allows himself the relief of gasping, heaving breaths. He presses a hand to the wall in order to steady himself and staggers to Sam’s room. It takes several knocks to elicit a response.

“Cas?”

“It’s happening,” he wheezes. “When Dean awakes… and I’m not here… tell him I’m out searching. And that the Nephilim will be born soon.”

“Yeah, okay. How do you feel?”

“I’m in pain.”

“Yeah, that makes sense… how long will it take?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel sucks another difficult breath. “But I should… reappear here in the bunker. I’ll slip through the veil.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Distract Dean.”

“Okay. Good luck, Cas.”

“Thank you.”

Castiel stumbles away to hide in the dungeon while he waits to be sucked out of the material realm. As he sits on the floor he becomes wracked with tremors and his nose starts to bleed - it won’t be long, now. He wishes Dean could be present, could be aware of what’s truly going on. He wishes he was human like Dean, and could give birth in a hospital with Dean holding his hand through it. He wishes this could be a joyous occasion instead of a monumentally dangerous and terrifying experience.

Despite being seated, he falls backwards into the veil.

The pain intensifies like his ribcage will burst. Castiel can only take small, ragged breaths. With great effort he manages to wrap his spasming wings around himself for protection. He wishes for Dean. If Dean knew, Castiel is sure he’d love to be present for the arrival of their child.

Alarmingly, even through the agony he’s in, Castiel can detect faintly that there are angels prowling and searching. They aren’t near him, but at the very least they’re aware that it isn’t the human parent giving birth. None of them are close by. He’s in the veil, but he’s also still in the bunker and the bunker is warded.

Castiel refocuses on his chest, which isn’t difficult seeing how that’s where his pain is centralized. It takes a moment to occur to him that when an angel touches a human’s soul, they reach through the human’s chest. And that’s what this is. There is a soul, a human soul, which is trapped inside his body and trying to escape. If he can’t remove it, it’ll tear him to pieces. And so Castiel forces himself to take a large breath before reaching in with one hand.

The angle is awkward for his wrist. He would scream but when he opens his mouth he’s been muted somehow. His fingertips graze the soul, it’s sitting beside his heart. Just the slight touch scorches him. He clenches his jaw and plunges his other hand into his ribcage. Both of his palms burn as he struggles to grab onto it, and the agony is indescribable. But he must do this. He must complete the process before it kills him, and he must return to the material realm and to his boyfriend.

Many noiseless screams later, he manages to free the soul from his chest. And it’s all he can see, just a soul, lightly wreathed in the silvery blue of angel grace. This soul is almost as bright as Dean’s. The spearing pain around his heart turns cold and dissolves as he fades out of the veil and back into the hard-object reality of the bunker, leaving him with a bone-deep ache and exhaustion throughout his entire body and second degree burns covering his hands. His nose and ears bleed profusely.

There is a baby girl in his arms.

Castiel indulges a quiet gasp. She looks so much like Dean, although her hair is a much lighter blonde than his. But she has his freckles and his ears, his chin. Castiel immediately loves her, it’s impossible not to. And he managed to make it through the process. He can deliver her to Dean himself.

Allegedly, anyway. His legs almost refuse to move, to stand him up from the floor. His ears still bleed and his muscles shake. It’s concerning, if he’s this weak he may fall down again while walking. But there’s no choice. He notes that several hours have passed and wonders if Sam and Dean are out searching.

They aren’t - he finds them in the kitchen. “Dean…”

“Cas, holy shit, what happened?” Dean’s eyes widen. “Is that…?”

“Yes.” And his legs go out from under him.

Sam is close by and catches him before he lands on the floor. Castiel can’t even summon the strength to keep his eyes open and feels the baby being removed from his arms.

“Set him down, Sammy. Here, take her, I’ll take care of Cas.” Castiel is gently manhandled by his boyfriend and eventually ends up in bed with burn dressings plastering his hands. Dean begins wiping the blood off his face, speaking softly. “Did other angels do this? Were they already there?”

Ah, perfect, he doesn’t even need to come up with a lie on his own. “Yes. The important thing is that the child is safe,” Castiel answers in a hoarse voice.

“Yeah, Sam’s got her. What about the dad?”

Speaking is draining. _Thinking_ is draining. Castiel shakes his head and says nothing.

“Okay. She got a name, or did the guy get a chance to tell you first before he bit it?”

This is their child. They should get to name it. There’s only one which comes to him that Dean can possibly find acceptable.

“Mary.” He manages to open his eyes slightly. “Her name is Mary.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise slightly. “Awesome, that’s prob’ly what I would’a ended up calling her anyway,” he chuckles.

Castiel wants, so desperately, to tell him the truth. It would be a terrible idea, though. Thankfully Sam appears and stops him indulging said terrible idea.

“Okay, she’s all set now.” Castiel looks and Sam is feeding her a bottle of formula - they’d stocked up on baby supplies long before this point. “How’re you feeling, Cas?”

“Injured.”

“Sammy, check this out, she’s already named Mary,” Dean grins.

“Oh. Uh. Great, that’s…” He stares at Castiel. “…really convenient.”

Castiel prays that Sam will hold his tongue.

“How’d you get her away from the other angels?” Dean asks.

“I was hiding.” Castiel winces in pain laying his bandaged palm on his boyfriend’s forearm. “I wish you’d been there to help, Dean.”

“Yeah, me too.” Dean leans in and kisses his forehead.

“Hey, you wanna see her?” Sam offers.

“What? Yeah, okay.” Mary is passed to Dean and he grins down at her. “Hey, cutie… you got my boyfriend hurt, but you’re so sweet I’mma forgive you anyway.”

Castiel’s heart breaks for Dean.

* * *

It takes six days for Castiel to be strong enough to get out of bed for more than a few moments. This morning, Dean is out hunting a rugaru while Sam holds down the fort, which is very convenient for Castiel because he needs to tell Sam about a recent discovery.

“Sam.”

“Morning, Cas. You look like you feel better.”

“Yes, aside from my hands. I have something to tell you, in part because you said before that you wished I’d come to you instead of harboring the knowledge on my own.”

“Uh, yeah, okay. Go ahead, Cas.”

“The names of all the Prophets are printed on the inner eyelids of every angel.”

Sam makes a face. “Good for you…?”

“A new name has appeared at the bottom of the list… Mary Winchester.”

This earns him a shocked gawk. “You mean the baby?”

“Yes.”

“Well - that’s great! That’s great, Cas, that means they won’t be allowed to go after her!”

“Yes, this is true. It confuses me that a Nephilim would be designated as a Prophet, but that’s beside the point.”

“Cas, this is _really_ good news. Now we know she’s safe, you can tell Dean-”

“No, I can’t. Just because she’s protected doesn’t mean we are.”

“Alright, look, don’t you think he’s gonna find out on his own eventually anyway?” Sam snaps. “Dean’s not stupid, Cas. Eventually he’s gonna figure out that this baby who’s named after his mother looks _just like him._ Besides, he loves her, he’ll be thrilled. Well. Maybe not _thrilled,_ he’ll be mad that you lied to him about it-”

“Sam. They _will._ Kill him. And they’ll kill me, too.”

“Great, Cas. Because nothing ever tries to kill either of you anyway just in day-to-day life, right? This is gonna seriously bite you in the ass.”

Castiel has no idea what that means, so he ignores it, assuming it’s some kind of “saying.” He shakes his head.

“You’ve done similar things to protect your brother.”

“Yeah, and then he always finds out anyway and gets pissed! Cas, I’m serious. When he gets back you can tell him or I will. This isn’t fair to him and it’s not fair to you, and it’s _definitely_ not fair to her. Okay, I grew up without my mom, and my dad was never around either. You have no right to rob Mary that way, too.”

Castiel considers this. It’s been less than a week and Dean has already essentially decided that this is his baby anyway, so in that regard it’ll take minimal adjustment. Dean _will_ be angry about Castiel lying, but it’s also extremely likely that the longer Castiel waits the more upset he’ll be. He grudgingly admits to himself that Sam is right.

“I’ll tell him.” Castiel sighs quietly. “And I apologize for making you keep this a secret.”

“Yeah, well…” Sam shrugs slightly and sets aside the now-empty bottle. “Have you even gotten to hold her since the first time?”

“No, I’ve been indisposed. My hands are still injured.”

“That’s okay, it’s all in the arms. Here, c’mere.”

Sam carefully transfers Mary into Castiel’s grasp, meticulously avoiding his injuries. Her blue eyes focus for just under a second on his face before crossing again and he wonders if they’ll remain that color or if they’ll turn green eventually.

“What was it like?” Sam asks.

Castiel sits because he’s beginning to feel shaky, keeping his gaze fixed on his daughter.

“I was inside the veil. It wasn’t - it wasn’t really comparable to how humans give birth. I was extricating a foreign soul from my being.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Unbearably.”

A brief pause. “But you’re okay now, right?”

“Yes, in general. The most important thing is that she’s alright. She emerged unscathed.”

“It’s really good you came back too, though. It would’ve really messed Dean up if you didn’t come back.”

“I know. I’m glad I managed to survive.”

* * *

Dean returns to the bunker less than three days after his departure, which doesn’t in any way seem like adequate time for Castiel to prepare for the coming discussion. It’s not surprising, though. A rugaru is a milk run for Dean.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, babe.”

“I need to tell you something. You’re going to get very upset with me very quickly.”

Dean frowns deeply. “What? Why?”

“It’s about Mary.”

The frown becomes a scowl. “Cas, if you’re gonna say that you changed your mind and you’re gonna give her up to the angels-”

“No, Dean, I would never say that. I have discovered recently that she’s a Prophet. They aren’t allowed to kill her anymore.”

“Awesome!”

“However, our lives are still at risk because of her.”

“Are you sure?”

“We’re her parents.”

Dean stands absolutely still and stares. Castiel isn’t even convinced he’s breathing at the moment.

“Can you. _Explain._ Just what the hell you mean by that, Cas?” Dean asks eventually, slowly sitting down as he speaks.

“I mean it exactly as it sounds.”

“Yeah but… last time I checked, you still have a dick.”

“It’s different for angels.”

“Okay but men don’t give birth, Cas.”

“Yes they do. Transgender men who desire biological children-”

“Okay okay enough.” Dean waves his hands. “Is that why you kept getting sick and shit?”

“Yes. I burned my hands extracting her soul from my being.”

Dean nods and shakes his head both at once. “And uh. How long did you know about this before it happened?”

“The angels will kill you if they find out that you know.”

“Great. Fucking _great,_ Cas.”

“I know this won’t improve the situation, but I am sorry. Sam made many of the same points which you’re about to bring up and ultimately convinced me to tell you the truth.”

“Are you shitting me? _Sam_ knew before I did?!” Dean bellows.

“He discovered it on his own.”

“Soon as we’re done here I’m kickin’ his ass!”

“I told him not to say anything.”

“I don’t give a damn about safety, you really thought I wouldn’t wanna know that we were havin’ a kid?” Dean demands.

“I have no excuse for this. I’m sorry, Dean. I wanted to tell you but didn’t and that was wrong of me.”

Dean shuts up for a moment, clearly expecting Castiel to put up much more of a fight about protection and safety rather than conceding. “Well… I wish I could’a been there.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to see anything,” Castiel says. “I fell into the veil. And in all honesty it may have been horrifying for you, I was in excruciating pain and there wouldn’t have been anything you could’ve done to help. I wanted you there, incidentally. But it would’ve been impossible.”

“So were you ever gonna tell me?”

“Eventually. Once she was old enough to protect herself from Heaven’s wrath.”

The room is quiet for a very long time. Castiel assumes Dean is processing the information he’s been given.

“So… our daughter is a Prophet.”

“Yes.”

“Y’know, I’m not sure how I feel about my kid being God’s bitch.”

“It guarantees her safety. I’m not sure we can complain too much.”

Dean takes another extended moment of silence before speaking again.

“I started wishing I was her real dad the first time I held her.”

“I know.”

“It feels a little weird now, knowing I am. I never expected… why didn’t you make me wear condoms if this was possible?”

“Because it’s extremely rare for an angel to be the party that carries the Nephilim. So in all honesty, the thought simply didn’t occur to me.”

“Do you regret it?” Dean whispers.

“I regret lying to you. I regret Heaven’s intolerance. I don’t regret her existence. I love her very much, and I also love you.”

“Love you too, Cas. I’m still kinda mad but. I also kinda feel like I don’t deserve this.”

“Why shouldn’t you? Dean, please don’t give me another one of your I’m-worthless-and-I-didn’t-earn-your-love speeches, I grow increasingly tired of those.”

“Okay, fine.” Dean scratches the side of his head over his ear. “Tell you one thing, though, I’mma be a better dad than my dad was even if it kills me.”

“I have no doubts in regards to your parenting abilities.”

“Woah, you guys _really_ screwed the pooch this time!” comes an overly-joyous voice that instantly grates on Castiel’s nerves.

“How the hell did you find us?” Dean demands, standing up and glaring at Gabriel, who’s munching on a large bag of M&M candies.

“Oh come on, Dean-o, I’m sure even you can figure it out for yourself. Besides, you should be happy to see me! I’m happy to be here, too!”

“You killed me about five thousand times, I feel like that’s a pretty big cause’a stress in our relationship,” Dean snaps.

“Gabriel, why are you here?” Castiel asks, also standing.

“Guess!” Gabriel grins, infuriatingly gleeful from where he’s now sitting at the top of a bookcase and kicking his feet through the air.

Castiel glowers at his brother. “You can _not_ be the archangel assigned to our daughter. Heaven only favors you slightly more than it does me, it makes no sense.”

“Jesus, _really?_ ” Dean groans, clearly in agreement with Castiel’s feelings on the matter. “Did it have to be you?”

“Well, Mikey’s trapped and Raph’s dead, so…” Gabriel shrugs and stuffs a handful of candy into his mouth. “Sorry, bucko, you’re stuck with me!”

“I fuckin’ hate this,” Dean complains.

“He’s very powerful,” Castiel grudgingly cedes. “He can certainly keep her safe. And it’s reasonable to think,” he continues, staring hard at Gabriel, “that he’s also the least likely to smite both of us despite what Heaven wants.”

“Aren’t you lucky to have such a great brother?”

“Dude, if you start teaching her trickster shit, I’ll fuckin’ end you,” Dean threatens.

“Not even tiny harmless pranks? I want to be the fun uncle! Samsquatch will only show her how to read five books per day and make salt shells!”

“No, dammit! No way in hell would I _ever_ leave her alone in a room with you!”

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll work out just fine, you always running off to chase vampires and all. Who’s gonna babysit, huh?”

“What’s with all the shouting?” Sam hisses, marching into the room. “There’s a baby sleeping less than a hundred feet from you g… oh. That uh. That makes sense.”

“Hi, Sammy!”

“Apparently the guy who likes to drop us into murderous versions of Candyland is my daughter’s guardian angel,” Dean grumbles, folding his arms over his chest with discontent. “Which is all info I found out in like the last ten minutes.”

“Oh, good, you actually told him. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Yeah, actually, remind me to kick your ass later for also not telling me.”

“I’m sorry, man. Cas swore me to secrecy.”

“I love hanging out with you three, you’re so dysfunctional that they should make a tv show about you,” Gabriel chortles around another mouthful of M&Ms. “Hey, when do I get to meet her?”

“She’s sleeping,” Sam says firmly.

“That’s okay, I’ve actually been standing right next to her all week. She’s adorable and watching her puke on Dean-o a few days ago was pretty gratifying.”

“Cas, your brother sucks.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” he agrees.

* * *

_Epilogue_

“Careful!” Castiel yelps as he feels her falling off his shoulders.

Mary shrieks in terror and then a flash of pain shoots through his upper back as she rips out fistfuls of his feathers in an attempt to catch herself. He hears her thump against the floor and when he turns she’s sitting and marveling at what’s in her hands, completely unconcerned about what just happened. Her own wings flap slightly, obviously in reflex. She doesn’t even appear to notice.

Castiel scoops her up into his arms, breathing erratically even though he can sense that she’s unhurt. It’s absolutely pointless, however, because when Dean comes into the kitchen she transfers right to him instead. Castiel isn’t sure how he feels about the fact that she learned to fly first but still can’t quite walk without holding onto something.

“Hey, there’s the birthday girl!” Dean dramatically kisses her neck and she squeals with laughter. His eyes catch her hands. “What’s this?”

“My flight feathers,” Castiel grumbles. Thankfully the pain is already fading and they’ll have grown back by the end of the week.

“I wish I could see your wings.”

“They’re not special, I promise.”

The three of them relocate to the kitchen, where Sam is dutifully smacking Gabriel’s hands away from the cake every few seconds. In the center is a candle shaped like the number one. Dean attempts to sit Mary in her high chair, but she immediately relocates into Castiel’s grasp, which is typical. At any given point, the three adult residents must be prepared to have an armload of rambunctious baby Nephilim in case she flies to one of them.

On occasion Gabriel will make himself visible and she’ll fly to him too, much to everyone else’s dismay and annoyance. Admittedly Gabriel isn’t the worst with her, and he doesn’t play games with her safety. For all his faults he is very family-oriented in his own way, and she’s not only his charge but his niece, so he _will_ look after her.

“Okay, kiddo, you can sit in the chair for three minutes…” Dean takes Mary from Castiel and sets her down a second time. “Alright, me and Sammy never got to do this when we were kids… okay maybe I did a couple times, but I don’t remember it. Either way. Literally every other family on earth does it, so we’re doing it with her every single year.”

Castiel has no understanding of this ritual, and watches Dean and Sam sing the song at her without participating while Sam films on his cell phone. Dean helps her blow out the candle and she gorges on a piece of cake. Half the cake is simply handed over to Gabriel in the first place once Mary has been served. Sam points the phone camera at Castiel.

“Smile, Cas! It’s your daughter’s first birthday, don’t be so damn grumpy.”

He obliges briefly and then returns his attention to Mary because he’s concerned she’ll choke - by one year of age, it’s readily apparent that her wings and her eye color are the only things she’s inherited from him, and the rest of her is all Dean. This means she stuffs her face relentlessly the same way Dean does, requiring a close eye during meals to avoid accidental asphyxiation. So far, it hasn’t happened. And it thankfully doesn’t happen today either. She giggles up at him from her chair with chocolate frosting painted across almost her entire face, and when Castiel smiles back, it’s genuine this time.

**Author's Note:**

> I un-anoned this fic because yknow what... fuck it. If Misha Collins is totally cool with pictures of himself nude and in drag being all over the internet I can be brave about one fic that has one slightly off-putting tag on it.
> 
> My other SPN fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=27&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon).
> 
> Comments welcome.


End file.
